sick and placed into our hands
left with a stink that comes and never goes
yet not deserving of our reprimands
the squarest of pegs in the roundest of holes
how long will you make us wait?
how many more demands will you spit at my face?
it's time you learn to stop acting like you own the place
how far is enough to prompt change?
the ice has to be thin for us to break through
and justify sinking to the floor of this ocean
the resultant state won't keep anyone satisfied
how am i to choose
if making you happy keeps me miserable?
and i'll admit to hyperbole
if that's what it takes for you to cut from the sick